


It's Spelled F-U-C-K Y-O-U

by feverbeats



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-10
Updated: 2010-06-10
Packaged: 2017-10-10 01:19:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/93648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feverbeats/pseuds/feverbeats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter lets Sirius pull him over to the battered blue couch, and he only trips once or twice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Spelled F-U-C-K Y-O-U

  
Three months after Peter starts spying for the Death Eaters and a month after the Order realizes they have a traitor in their midst, Sirius comes to see Peter alone. This is something he's never done before, so Peter hesitates before pulling the door open, uncertain of what's going on. The idea that he might have been caught crosses his mind too late, but Sirius has dark circles under his eyes, something that Peter would never be able to put there.

Peter can hear the click of a cooling engine, probably from Sirius's over-sized motorbike. The sky outside is the orange-tinged white of hurricane weather, and it's only a few minutes until sunset. Peter ushers Sirius in quickly and locks the door behind him.

"Hullo, Padfoot." Peter shoves a tuft of hair behind his ear, suddenly incredibly nervous. He's never spent much time alone with Sirius, and it makes him feel even more off-balance than usual.

"Yeah," Sirius says gruffly. "Not interrupting, am I?"

"No," Peter says, and then, considering, "Well, I was about to eat. Do you want anything?"

Sirius shrugs. "Yeah. Sure. Fantastic." He drops into one of the chairs at the table, sighing.

Peter knows something's wrong for sure now, but he's also pretty sure it's not about him. As if it ever would be. Instead of dwelling on this, he busies himself making a second cheese and tomato sandwich. Cooking is something he's never quite mastered, even after living alone for all this time.

They eat in awkward silence, Sirius wolfing down his food and Peter picking at his. He's been losing a lot of weight lately.

Finally, Sirius says, "Hey, Peter." He's using real names, so that means something's quite badly wrong.

"Y-yeah?" Peter says, hating how his voice shakes.

"It's all gone to fucking hell," Sirius whispers, staring intently at his hands on the table in front of him. "We're all—It'd be better if we _were_ all going to die, but we're not. We're going to live, and it's going to be bloody horrible. We're going to take each other apart, Pete."

"Are you drunk?" Peter asks, because he doesn't know what else to say.

Sirius laughs, wild and dark. "No. Not right now. Later, probably."

"Remus—" Peter begins, faltering. Remus is the one who should be dealing with this, Remus is good at these things, Remus is Sirius's bloody _boyfriend_—

"I can't go to Remus," Sirius spits. "Don't you see? The spy, Peter, it's _him_."

Peter's heart cracks sideways, apologies piling up at the base of his throat. His lies were already hurting enough people, but now—Now it's Remus and Sirius&amp;Remus and Peter has ruined everything. But all he says is, "Oh."

"Yeah. Oh." Sirius laughs. "Oh."

"How—I mean, uh, why do you think it's him?" Peter can't keep doing this. He tells himself that repeatedly in his head, but he still doesn't tell Sirius the truth.

"Doesn't matter," Sirius says, standing. "Doesn't fucking matter, Pete, because it's over. It's all . . . we're all alive. We're—Do you think I'm going mad?" He suddenly fixes Peter with clear eyes, darkened by rage and fear.

Peter shakes his head mutely. He wants to say, _Not any more than I am_.

Then Sirius is up and moving across the room, yanking Peter out of his seat and shoving him against the kitchen cabinets that made Peter feel so grown-up when he bought the place. Before Peter can even stammer out an objection, Sirius is kissing him instead of hitting him.

His tongue is in Peter's mouth, and all Peter can do is cling to the front of Sirius's shirt and wonder what the hell is going on. Sirius's reactions have never been sane or rational, but this just completely off the map.

When Sirius pulls back, his eyes are wide and determined. "Peter," he says, and his voice sounds utterly broken.

Peter shoves down the truth, the apologies, into a well of guilt that's growing every damn day. "All right," he says, feeling more tired than anything else. Sometimes he lies awake at night and thinks about James's biceps, but he never considered this. Sirius belonged to Remus belonged to Sirius, ever since they were eleven.

Peter lets Sirius pull him over to the battered blue couch, and he only trips once or twice. This is his best friend, and this is gross, and he can't stop. Sirius's kisses have teeth in them, and maybe that's what Peter deserves.

One of the buttons on his shirt comes off when Sirius tugs at it frantically, and Peter squirms around until he's something close to comfortable, settled against Sirius's chest and kissing him a little desperately. Peter never expects it to go further than that.

Sirius, though, clearly has other plans, because after a moment he says, "Hey. Take your clothes off."

Peter hesitates. "Um."

"Do it," Sirius says.

Peter knows better than to argue with him when he's like this. Besides, there's a part of him, a weird, self-loathing part, that might want this. "Right," he says, feeling horribly awkward. He shifts again, tossing the clothes into a messy pile on the floor and he tugs them off.

Sirius, meanwhile, undresses with the same fluid ease with which he does everything. He makes a complex little motion with his wand, and thick liquid oozes from the end onto his fingers.

Peter chokes back a laugh. Lubrication spell. Brilliant. One of his best friends is going to . . . okay.

After a few more fumbled kisses, Peter winds up on his hands and knees on the couch, biting his lip really, really hard.

"I need to know you want this," Sirius says. He sounds terrified.

"I do," Peter says in a tiny voice, and it's about the least convincing thing ever.

"No. Say it like you mean it." This time, Sirius's voice is hard. He sounds every bit a Black.

"I want this," Peter tries again, digging his fingers into his palms. He feels incredibly stupid.

Sirius reaches one arm around Peter and runs a hand down his chest, stopping at his stomach to curl there, short fingernails scraping Peter's skin.

Peter shivers involuntarily and lets out a small whimper. "Sirius, _oh_."

"Yeah," Sirius snarls, "Good."

Peter feels surreal and miles away as Sirius does something complicated and wonderful with his fingers. Peter makes a sound he's never heard himself make before, completely against his own will. "Oh. Yeah." He tries in horror to block out questions about whether Sirius does things like this with Remus.

Sirius does something else with his fingers, and Peter gasps. "Fuck, Sirius, please."

Sirius draws a sharp breath, so Peter says it again. The raised cloth ridges of the couch's fabric are etching themselves into his elbows.

"What—" Sirius says, "What do you want?"

Peter squeezes his eyes shut in utter humiliation, but maybe that's okay, too. Maybe it feels sort of good. "I—I want you to—I want—"

"Say it," Sirius snarls, fisting one hand in Peter's hair.

"Fuck me?" Peter gasps. "Please? I, I can't—" _I'm sorry_, he screams in his head. _Sorry, sorry, sorry_. If he's not sorry about Sirius, he's at least sorry about Remus.

"You have to." Sirius's other hand is on Peter's hip now, pressing too hard.

"Fuck me," Peter says again with slightly more confidence. He barely swears at the best of times, and this is just absurd, it sounds absurd, and Sirius must know that, he must—

When Sirius starts to fuck him, fast and hard, Peter has to bite back a squeak. It fucking hurts, but it feels sort of okay at the same time, and then suddenly something very excellent is happening and Peter moans, ncoherent and shameless.

"Yes," Sirius hisses through his teeth. He sounds as though he's in pain, too.

"Yes, oh, God, yes," Peter chants, knees rubbing raw against the fabric of the couch. "Merlin, yes. Please, please, Sirius, harder." These are the words something in him knows are right, although his actual brain appears to have shut down completely.

And because Peter was a virgin, it doesn't last much longer than that. There's a great swooping feeling in his stomach and then he's coming, still begging Sirius raggedly.

It takes Sirius a few more thrusts to finish, but he's almost soundless then he does, simply breathing hard through his nose.

A few seconds later, Sirius pulls out out and whispers a cleaning spell over both of them. They both sit back on the couch for a moment, waiting for something that isn't coming.

Peter tries to think of words that will fix this, but all he can say is, "Why didn't you go to James?" His voice sounds small.

Sirius laughs roughly. "That wouldn't have worked at all. Fuck. Fuck, Wormtail, I'm so sorry."

"No," Peter says quickly, "Don't be. Just don't tell Moony."

Sirius snorts. "I won't be telling _Remus_ anything anymore, I don't think."

"Oh," Peter says again. "Well. I think I'm going to get dressed now."

Sirius stands in one elegant motion. "You're always so practical. I don't know how you stand me, really. I think I'd better be off. Listen, thanks for . . ."

"The sandwich," Peter supplies numbly.

Sirius barks out a surprised laugh. ."Yeah. The sandwich." He waves vaguely and disapparates.

Peter gets dressed slowly and then tucks his knees under himself and sits on the couch for a very long time.


End file.
